A Splash of Eve
by Ruth Garber Eve
Summary: The new doctor at the BAU is a peculiar case for Spencer Reid, but he's going to have to find out all she has to offer him. ReidxOC, frequent casefic .
1. Genius

_"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand in rapt awe, is as good as dead. His eyes are closed." --_ Albert Einstein

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It wasn't like one of those usual old mornings. It was like nothing that had ever been in Quantico history. The rain was pouring down outside, a thunderous noise as raindrops rammed the pavement, a stack of cases on JJ's desk as she sifted through them; paperwork on Emily, Derek and Spencer's desks, paperwork that seemed sky high; a small cup of untouched coffee on the edge of Rossi's desk, the steam wafting out the cracked open window; a spread out case that had just been solved being looked over on Hotch's desk; and Garcia at her computer, typing rapidly on her keyboard keys. All seemed silent and casual, and only Hotch knew of what chaos that was to rise through the doorway in just moments.

To her, the day was brand new , exciting and an opportunity for greatness, however the morning had not started out well. With car lying dead in the center of her driveway, she had to rely on her rollerblades to get her to her first day of work. Upon her travels, she hit a crack in the pavement and face-planted the sidewalk, scraping her forehead and chin and bruising her cheek. She was soaking wet with a busted wheel, yet still rolled into the building, swinging her backpack onto the floor to change into her sneakers. She pulled her wet hair into a ponytail with a yellow fuzzy pipe cleaner, tied it tight, and attempted to shake herself dry before quietly traipsing into the main room, spotting a collection of desks and well arranged offices and rooms.

She stopped in plain sight of everyone, though no one quite spotted her. Her initial instincts were to pick out the alpha and approach them. However, as she aimed for Derek, she was sidetracked by bumping into Spencer and spilling his papers. "Oh! Geez, I'm sorry!" She knelt down and began picking them up, noticing the order they were in and filing them in her hands. "I didn't mean to, I was looking for Agent Hotchner."

Spencer eyeballed her for a second, carefully examining her face. She had bulbous green eyes, brown hair that looked black in the rain and a crooked grin. And scrapes. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why?" He then gestured to her face. "Oh, yeah, I fell. On my rollerblades. I'm fine."

"All right." He still eyed her cautiously. "Agent Hotchner is the first office on the left." He pointed up a small set of stairs. She veered away from him and felt her face, trying to decipher if her face did look really bad, like he had implied. She didn't quite think about what she was doing when she burst into his office.

"Oh! Sorry," She looked at the door and then to him, though he had only taken his eyes off of the solved case for a mere moment. "That was rude of me, not to knock."

"You're Ruth Eve, I assume." He sat up and took the time to look her over. For all her resume made claims to, she certainly didn't look or come off as a genius prodigy child. "It's an honor to have you."

"Oh. Thanks." Ruth looked rather uneasy as she examined his office slowly. "It's good to meet you, I've heard good things."

"From who?"

Ruth stared at him, and then wrinkled her nose. "I meant read."

"I'm sorry if I imply something, but I feel the need to ask. Are you all your resume said you were? You don't seem to be the kind of person who graduated from Yale at sixteen, after two years. Harvard after four. Medical school and law school after two…" Hotch watched her nodding along with him. "I've heard of you, many times. You always come off as a genius, as you are, and with your reputation… I'm just not sure how to react."

"It's okay. I get this all the time. I _am_ a genius, really, I'm just the dumbest genius you will ever meet." She said, still a wide grin on her face. "I don't make great first impressions, I'm very clumsy, I usually insult people accidentally. I suppose in a roundabout kind of way, I just know too much."

Hotch didn't say anything. He simply watched her carefully as she fidgeted and felt her face, one again. "Is it really bad?" She finally asked, a semi-worried look on her face. "I hit a pothole on my rollerblades on the way in."

Hotch just shook his head and stood up. "It's fine, Dr. Eve."

"Ruth, please!" Ruth shot up quickly. "I much prefer Ruth."

"Call me Hotch… or Hotchner, whichever you prefer."

"Hotch. Nice. It sounds like something out of Miami Vice!" Ruth laughed, and Hotch eyeballed her again. "Really, honestly, I am a genius. I promise."

* * *

**REG:**

**I'm not hugely adept to writing Criminal Minds. I tried my best, and wouldn't have done so had this idea not bestilled my brain.**


	2. Akron

_"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed."_ -- Carl Gustav Jung

* * *

"Team, you remember me telling you about Dr. Ruth Eve?" Hotch watched as the last few of his team, Emily and Derek, file into the conference room. They all instantly looked to her cut and bruised face. "This is her. She is the newest member of our team. Her resume is quite unreal, but we'll get to that after our case. Ruth, is there anything you would like to add before we start?"

"I fell on my rollerblades." She gestured to her face. "I hit a pothole. That's it."

Hotch gestured for her to take the empty seat beside Spencer. She obliged, and smiled at him as she sat down. He felt his face break into a smile, as well.

"Our victims range between the ages of fifteen to eighteen. They are abducted outside of their homes between 2:20 and 3:00… there are four victims so far, and as of yesterday, a missing 15-year-old boy." JJ flipped the page in her folder, reading the notes within. "A Victor Mallas. His parents say he was home from school by 2, and probably wouldn't have left the house for much until his father got home. They go for a walk after school every day, down to the baseball diamond. Victor looked forward to it, since his father works seven days a week as a popular mechanic. "

"Are there any links between victims other than abduction times?" Morgan didn't take his eyes off of his copy of the file.

"They all live in the same community and all go to the same church." JJ let out a small, stressed sigh. "Apostolic Lutheran Church in Akron, Ohio."

"Ohio!" Ruth chirped with a wide grin. "Did you know Akron is the rubber capital of the world?"

"Did you know seven United States presidents were born in Ohio?" Spencer countered.

"Ulysses S. Grant, Rutherford B. Hayes, James A. Garfield, Benjamin Harrison, William McKinley, William H. Taft and the one, the only, Warren G. Harding!" Ruth counted on her fingers and grinned at Spencer, who also beheld the same wild grin. Both enthralled to find another genius to boast their random facts and focus on. "What's your IQ?"

"187. You?"

"I'm just a couple points ahead." Ruth shot her gaze away from him. "So do we go to Akron now and investigate? I'm sort of new to this BAU thing, but I thumbed through all the information I could find."

"That's exactly what we do. Wheels up in twenty minutes." Hotchner rose to his feet and left the room looking over the file.

"So hi everyone," Ruth interjected before they all left. "I'm Ruth Eve. I'd like to get all your names, so I don't have to adapt to the nicknames I gave you instantaneously per viewing your exterior."

Derek eyeballed her for a moment, and then outstretched his hand to shake hers. "SSA Derek Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid, Agents Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jureau and David Rossi."

"Right. Got it. It's sure great to know you all! It's a real intense experience. I feel so intimidated and small, like all I say is purely inferior to you and your experience and wisdom." Ruth's grin hadn't settled an inch since she began talking.

"Hotch said you're a genius," Rossi said, "is it true? You don't seem like one."

"I know, hah," she laughed, "I'm the stupidest genius you'll ever meet. I don't know how else to explain it."

"Well, it's nice to meet a dumb genius. There are few." Emily shook her hand as well. "I'm sure you and Spencer will get along great."

"Oh yeah? I don't really get along well with other so-called prodigies. The half that don't get jealous of my IQ get angry I don't act like I have superior intelligence. Personally, I believe you can't be a genius unless you can finish a Rubix cube in 10 seconds, and I'm topping 13. I guess that means I'm not a genius at all, ha!" Ruth giggled once more and then exited the room with her wet hair bouncing along side her head as she examined the offices she passed.

"True, she doesn't act like Spencer at all." Derek mused. "Of course, that means nothing. I haven't met a single person who acts like Spencer."

"Good point. Personally, I'm looking forward to this." Emily some-what beamed. "She seems nice."

As they left the office, they noticed her bubbling around a secretary, giggling and smiling with each other. "Very friendly." Spencer observed. "Peculiar, I wonder what her IQ is."

"189?" JJ guessed. "She said it was a couple above yours, right? Wouldn't that make it 189?"

"Maybe." Spencer mused, not convinced.

* * *

**REG:**

**I appreciate reviews to the nth degree. If you read this and liked it, I would love a review.**


	3. IQ

_"Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school." _- Albert Einstein.

* * *

Whilst on the plane, Ruth kept her face pressed up against the glass while most caught up on napping, Rossi and Hotch went over the case again together and Spencer flipped through Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher".

After scanning the occupants, Ruth got up and took the empty seat opposite to Spencer, and peered out the window at the dark . Spencer watched her as her green eyes studied the world beyond the scratches and smudges upon the glass, spotting things below nothing but darkness. He kept his book up, though his eyes didn't lay upon the words, but less kept still to her movements.

After a moment, Spencer let his book fall against his lap. "We painted and read together; or I listened, as if in a dream, to the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar." Ruth hummed, almost lyrically, with a quiet whistle to her speech. "Poe's not my favorite… but a great author. Do you read a lot?"

"Oh, yes." Spencer knew "reading a lot" was an grand understatement. "You?"

"I don't know. I don't particularly _read_, I just retain. I only read that once, when I was fifteen… can you believe I could probably recite it, word for word?"

"Not surprising. I could recite a lot of things word for word." Spencer nodded. "Will you tell me your IQ?"

"Mmm," She hummed quietly, not removing her eyes from the plane window. "No."

Spencer's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"People think differently of me once they know, you know? I can't be myself because they think I should act superior, or think I'm just gloating, or any number of things. I just prefer to keep it ambiguous; it's high, but not important at all."

"That's not very reasonable. I told you mine."

Ruth blinked a few times, and settled into her seat, a small smile. "Mine's higher."

Spencer squinted his eyes, trying to profile her in his mind. "Is it 189?"

"Do you ever get airsick? I've never been on a plane before, so I'm not sure if I'm going to. I got seasick once, but I think it's because I ate really bad lamb just beforehand."

Spencer was unsure of what to say to this. "Well…" He mused, "did you eat really bad lamb before you got on the plane?"

"No."

"Then I think you'll be fine." Spencer said, "Do you have an issue with your intelligence?"

"Not at all. Do you have any books I can borrow? I'm getting kind of bored of window-watching."

"Sure." Spencer reached into his messenger bag beside his seat and pulled out a hardcover book. Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart". "Is this good?"

"It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed."

"Do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am." Spencer replied.

"You're a Poe, at heart." Ruth giggled, and flipped open the book to a random page and began reading.

Spencer watched as her eyes abducted the words off of the page and stored them in her memory warehouse, full of such things as Poe and Ohio facts. She was engulfed in the three pages she had read already, and Spencer was engulfed with her. A peculiar case, and somewhat frustrating. He knew that working with her would be interesting, but watching her in this moment seemed more interesting. She fired through pages, looked up only to blow loose strands of hair out of her face, and after the fourth time, stopped trying. She wrinkled her nose, blinked her eyelids hard, held a toothy grin, stared long and hard at specific words. She seemed so peaceful, curled up with her legs bent underneath her, her shoes lapped over one another on the floor. She pulled her sweater tighter around her, and shivered slightly. She didn't notice when Spencer got up, and she didn't see him while he stood beside her seat. So involved in her book, she also didn't notice when Spencer draped a fleece blanket around her, narrowly avoiding her deep stare at the words in the book. He managed to slip the blanket around her so she was covered enough to warm up, and then took his seat back across from her.

"Thanks," she said as she licked her finger to turn the page. "I wasn't anticipating a flight or anything… I never went to Boy Scouts." Spencer stared at her, confused. "They're always prepared, you know?"

"Cute. I've just done this enough to always know what to bring." Spencer decided to return to his book, finally.

"Smells nice." Ruth murmured. Spencer cocked his eyebrow at her. "Your blanket. It's nice. Musk, tense, rugged." She dipped her nose against the soft blanket beside her. "Thank you."

Spencer, quiet for a moment, then said, "You're welcome."

Ruth returned to her book, almost shutting out everyone around her completely.

"Ruth? Ruth, we've landed." Derek shook her shoulder until she blinked out of her trance. She looked around and the plane was empty. "Do you sleep with your eyes open, or something?"

"Oh, no, sorry. I get into these weird reading trances sometimes. I can't really see or hear anything else. It's just… it has to be a combination of things. I guess with the warm blanket, good book and calming plane ride, everything else just kind of floats away."

"I suppose that's nice on long plane rides… but we're in Akron, now, so we can go."

"Did you know Akron was the first city to use police cars?" Ruth said in the middle of a yawn. "And did you know that in a partnership deal with Israel's Targetech Innovation Center," Ruth folded the blanket up quickly and followed Derek off the plane. "Akron became the first city in the US to have officers trained and equipped with the high-tech Israeli gun Cornershot, which is a special-purpose weapon that can fire around corners… it was designed for SWAT teams and specials forces and it allows the operator to both see and attack a target without exposing themselves to a counterattack."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Derek bemoaned, watching as Ruth handed the blanket and book off to a sleepy Spencer.

"My father says that when I read something and it's incomplete or nonsensical, I have to read every single bit of information about that thing until I understand it. I just like knowing things, and CornerShots are quite a amazing… I wonder if they'll let me use one."

"I doubt it, considering you don't even have your gun permit yet." Hotchner said as he approached the team. "Team, we're going to divide up. Spencer, you take Ruth and go to the school. Prentiss, Morgan, go to the missing boy's home. Rossi, JJ and I will head down to the Akron police station."

"Shouldn't there be an actual agent with us?" Ruth asked once she and Spencer had begun away from the group, splitting up. "I mean, all two doctors can do is calculate and operate. I don't get have a gun."

"I do." Spencer gestured to his waist.

"I know. But what if you die? Wouldn't they take out the man first? What do I do? I suppose I could take your gun. I hope you're a really good shot, Dr. Reid!"

"Spencer, please," He watched her climbing into the driver's seat of the SUV. "And I'm so-so."

"I'm driving. Passenger seat, bucko!" Ruth had a wild grin on her face again, as she adjusted the seat.

"I'm only agreeing to this because I feel bad that you don't get a gun." Spencer stated.

"I think I'm okay with that. Get in, please." Her soft lips formed and gentle smile, and his stomach hatched butterflies and his throat dried up like the Sahara. He hurried around the hood of the car and got inside. "I usually drive an F150! Well, I used… then I had to settle for a Chrysler… but it died. That's why I was rollerblading."

"So your only means of transportation is… rollerblading." It seemed less of a question and more of a statement.

"Pretty much. I don't mind it."

"Unless that happens?" He gestured to her face. She checked the rearview mirror. It wasn't bad, mainly because JJ gave her some makeup to make it less noticeable.

"I still didn't mind it… it happens to the best of us." Ruth sighed, shifting to drive and buzzing off down the road.

"I have a question. Will you ever tell me your IQ?"

"I don't know… maybe you can figure it out on your own."

"That's not fair at all."

"You're a smart guy, aren't you? You can figure it out."

* * *

**REG:**

**Perhaps the longest chapter to date. But that's okay, I don't think you mind.**

**Remember, author + review = continuous chapter posts. :) Well appreciated.**


	4. Realization

"_True genius resides in the capacity for evaluation of uncertain, hazardous and conflicting information." _- Winston Churchill.

* * *

"So were you an outcast in high school?" Spencer asked, picking through school reports and files for Victor Mallas.

"Why do you ask?" Ruth asked, looking through her own set of files, transferring specific things to a notepad beside the file on the desk.

"It always gets me reminiscent working on cases where we have to interview or go to high school for something." Spencer mused, flipping a page casually. "Were you? Most child geniuses are."

"No," Ruth replied. "I was a twelve-year-old high school senior. I was a spectacle during high school." Ruth peered up at Spencer, who was nodding with her words. "I think that's what helped me become the kind of person I am. People treated me so strangely as a child genius, I hated the way it felt when they looked at me with starry eyes. So much pressure to cure cancer, AIDs, fix global warming. They said my brain was so advanced and mysterious that by the time I turn thirty, I should be able to do anything I want and be able to innovate the way people live their lives."

"And?"

"I hated that. I mean, regular kids in high school have loads of pressure. But to have the pressure of curing a disease that statistically killed 559,312 people in 2005 alone? It was terrible! That's why I like it when people ask me if I'm _really_ a genius."

"Interesting." Spencer picked up a piece of paper. "According to this, Victor got tormented daily for supposedly being homosexual. Reports by his parents claim students gave him regular beatings for allegedly watching other boys in the shower after P.E."

"Strange, and horrible… Is there a possibility this is just a prank by the classmates, or perhaps Victor running away to live in a discrimination free environment?"

"Maybe, but probably not. We should get the principle back in here to ask her some questions about the attacks and allegations."

Ruth nodded, and shortly after, Spencer's cell phone jingled in his pocket. He fished it out, opened it and stuck it to his ear. "Hello? Yeah… really? You want us to meet you there? Okay, which? Yeah, okay."

"What's up?" Ruth stood up, grabbing her files and shuffling them into their correct spaces.

"Well, he didn't run away. They just found Victor Mallas's body. Out in the woods." Spencer sighed roughly. "Hotch wants us to interview the first and second victim's parents. It says they were the only victims to disappear in the same day, about three and a half weeks ago. The female, Julia Stanford, was dumped sloppily after 36 hours, wrapped in a pink comforter and placed in an open area. The boy, Ezekiel Hobbes, was dumped after the typical 72 hours, in a closed, brushy area, naked."

"That's weird!" Ruth said as they began to leave the school. "Julia Stanford sounds like the murderer felt remorse for killing her. He spared her the torture, wrapped her in a blanket and left her where she would be found. Ezekiel Hobbes was tortured for more than 24 hours longer than Julia, callously dumped him in the brush. Can't seem to keep his M.O. straight."

"Perhaps Julia Stanford was an accident. He took all of his victims during the middle of the day, in broad daylight. Perhaps Julia witnessed him taking Ezekiel and couldn't handle leaving behind a witness."

"Maybe. Sounds logical." Ruth said, "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's just a question. You don't have to answer it if you don't feel comfortable." Ruth shrugged.

"No, I mean… I've had a girlfriend before…" He turned his gaze away from Ruth. "I'm just not very appealing to girls, you know?"

"Yeah, I totally understand." Ruth nodded, "Maybe it's your haircut?"

"What?" Spencer stopped walking. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"I don't know. It's getting long. Some girls don't like long hair on boys. I don't, but that's just my perspective. Maybe your dream girl loves long, stringy hair on boys." Ruth offered him a gentle smile. Spencer did not respond. "Um… that may have sounded like an insult, but I really didn't mean it as one."

"My hair isn't stringy."

"I'm sorry. I… um, I'm just sorry." Ruth cleared her throat and took a few steps, trying to initiate him walking again. Spencer followed her shortly after.

"You have stringy hair." Spencer finally said as they approached their car.

"Spencer," Ruth rolled her eyes. "You're joking right?"

"I can't believe you think I have stringy hair."

Ruth just laughed at the cute expression he made—flabbergasted. Perhaps appalled, nervous, embarrassed, insecure—as he ran his fingers through his hair and felt the tips. He looked at her like she was God, but she just smirked and apologized one last time.

* * *

As they entered Julia Stanford's house, the quiet thudding of footsteps stormed throughout the house. A flustered older woman sat on the edge of the couch with a newborn baby in her arms, while the salt-and-pepper haired man led them through the foyer and into the living room.

"Cheryl, baby," Roger sat down with his wife. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, while cradling a young pink-blanket-covered baby. "These people are from the FBI… for Julia."

"Dr. Reid and Dr. Eve," Spencer gestured to himself then Ruth. "We just need to ask you a few more questions about the day Julia disappeared."

Just then, two toddlers burst into the room giggling. One boy, dark brown hair, big hazel eyes. One girl, bouncy curly brown eye and green eyes, the size of saucers. They ran over to Cheryl and Roger, and clung to their legs.

"We don't know _anything_," Cheryl began crying again instantaneously. "Only they do."

Ruth and Spencer exchanged glances. Ruth knelt down to the twins' eye-level. "Hi there. My name is Ruthie. What's yours?"

"I'm Luke!" the boy stepped out to her. "This is June, my sister."

"Luke and June? I love those names… do you remember when Julia said goodbye?"

"Yeah," June chirped, "We told other police guys what we saw!"

"Would you mind telling me? Because nobody told me… and I'd like to hear it from you two."

"Okay," June sniffled, "we saw an eagle. It stopped and then kept going, after Julia ran at it yelling. It took her, too, and left!"

"An eagle? Eagles are native to Ohio, yes, but not typically suburban neighborhoods like this." Spencer mused.

"It was a big, blue, mean, stupid, ugly eagle!" June shrieked, stomping her feet.

"Spencer," Ruth stood up straight. "Do you know that the United States Postal Service moves mail by mule trains in Arizona?"

"Ruth, I don't think now is the time to see who knows more about the Postal Service."

"Each mule carries about 130 pounds of mail, food, supplies and furniture down the 8-mile trail to the Havasupai Indians. It averages out to about 41,000 pounds per week." Ruth rubbed her chin gently. "Everyone in America can pick out that big, blue, stupid, ugly van."

"That's it. A mailman. It accounts for the time, how restricted his route was… strictly the surrounding neighborhood. How he gained people's trust, how he transported bodies."

"Thank you for your time." Ruth bowed her head slightly, "I promise we're going to catch this guy."

"When you get him, bring him to me!" Luke hollered, "I'll show him my kung-fu!"

Cheryl smiled gently, and placed a hand on Luke's head. Ruth took Spencer by the hand and led him out of the house while he dialed Garcia's number.

"Garcia, cross reference U.S. postal employees with all known sex offenders in the Summit County area and then narrow it down by using the route coordinates where each victim lived and get back to me with the list. Okay, thanks Garcia." Spencer hung up his phone. "We should have a name pretty quickly, I'll call Hotch and let him and the others know." Spencer flipped his phone open again just in time to see Aaron Hotchner on the front screen, right below "incoming call" as it rang his jingle. "Hello? Oh. Taking another victim after dumping his last one approximately…" Spencer checked his watch. "Two hours ago generally indicates the UnSub's acceleration means he's worried he'll get caught. He must know the local police called us in." Spencer just listened for a moment, while Ruth studied him.

He stood with one arm across his stomach, the other holding his cell phone to his ear. His eyes studied the ground, obviously listening intently to Hotch's words. "We're having Garcia cross reference U.S. postal service employees to all known sex offenders in the area, then narrowing it down using the route coordinates where each victim lived. We think it's a postman. Julia Stanford's younger siblings said they saw a blue eagle take Julia." Spencer paused for a moment, and Ruth heard Hotch's voice. "Uh, no, actually… it was Ruth. Uh-huh. Okay." He hung up and sent Ruth a slanted frown. "Our UnSub took another teen. 15-year-old Coller Ribbs outside of his house, four blocks East of here."

"Well, he obviously abducts and dumps his victims while en route to delivering mail, if he's a postman. Considering he's vastly accelerated his approach to his victims, that generally means he'll get his thrills and dump them just as fast. However, he likes time to torture and abuse them. Perhaps his sick sense of sexual release will force him to keep Coller Ribbs long enough for us to find him alive."

"Maybe. If he does, I don't think that boy will ever have anything to do will mail for the rest of his life." Spencer frowned, climbing into the passenger seat.

"That's what my brother does. He has his wife open all of his mail and read it for him and everything… though he has irrational Papyrophobia." Ruth mused.

"Fear of paper?" Spencer slightly smirked. "Is your whole family weird, or just you two?"

"Depends on what you consider weird." Ruth started the engine and shifted to drive. "I think we should go to the postal office and submit the profile. Maybe they have a glaringly obvious employee."

"Anything is worth trying, just to find this guy before he kills again." Spencer mused, thumbing through the files that sat on the dashboard.

* * *

**REG:**

**I would really appreciate reviews. My gusto seems to diminish if I am left hanging. If you like it enough to want me to continue it, you'll like it enough to review!**

**Thanks.**


	5. Fight

_"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."_ -- Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

Once at the post office, they directed Ruth and Spencer to an old shipping station the post office used in the early eighties which was condemned due to the overexposure of a toxic mold that grew on the foundation. The manager claimed Patrick Holombre fit the profile "some-what" but "nobody really knows much about the guy". They did, however, know Patrick bought the property after settling a dispute with the local supermarket when he slipped and fell in their parking lot on unsalted ice.

As they got out of the car, they noticed a rundown warehouse and thin puddle of oil and trail heading out of the fenced in enclosure. Spencer drew his gun out of its holster on his hip. "Ruth, get behind me."

Ruth's eyebrows perked at his voice. Pinpointed, brave, strong. She didn't complain or refuse, she simply stepped behind him and took her steps a pace behind his as they slowly entered the building. The doors, unlocked and hanging on by one or two screws in the hinges, hung open for them. As they entered, the sound of water dripping through pipes entered their ears, the smell of oil and gasoline hit their noses. The building was stacked with boxes, containers and dead appliances. Washers and driers stacked, old refrigerators in a cluster. Water heaters with cracks down the front or dents in the side. All the light came from the ajar doors.

Feeling a little nervous, Ruth slid her hand onto Spencer's back, pressing gently, so she wouldn't lose him. Around a litter of televisions and broken lamps rose a gentle light. Approaching it, they saw it was a desk with cluttered files and papers amongst its tabletop, as well as a small lamp with a dim light bulb. Spencer scanned the room with his flashlight and found it was empty.

Ruth thumbed through the papers with her own flashlight. "These are mostly letters. Looks like he opened a lot of mail for the victims."

"Except for Julia Stanford." Spencer mused, flipping through his own bundle he had picked up. "Not even a mere mention of her name."

"I have a theory." Ruth said, looking up at Spencer. He gave her a look that assured her she had his full attention. "June and Luke said Julia ran at the "blue eagle" yelling. There isn't a mention of her in these letters. He dumped her with remorse after 36 hours, not 72. He didn't even torture her. His other four victims have been males, one 18 and three 15. It sounds to me like Julia was an accident."

"Julia witnessed the UnSub abducting Ezekiel Hobbes and tried to interject, so he had to take her, too. It makes sense."

"He felt horrible with what he had done to her. He despises young boys, but holds women to the highest value. He felt so guilty he couldn't take someone again for a week, until the urges were too strong for him. He had to have more. He made himself more invisible… he probably parked a ways away, probably has a dummy package that he pretends to deliver."

Spencer nodded. "We should report this to Hotch." He pulled out his cell phone. "No service."

"I'll go outside and call him. I'm not surprised this dump doesn't have cell phone service." She took a few steps back, still engulfed in the papers she had. She turned around and looked up and bumped her forehead against something: the barrel of a .45. "Oh."

Spencer flashed his light over to see Patrick Holombre. He wrapped his arm around Ruth's neck and pulled her back against him, the gun to her temple. "Put your gun down." He ordered. Spencer leaned over and put his gun on the floor. "Kick it away." Spencer kicked it, gently, and it skidded across the concrete floor. Patrick tied them up with plastic ties, so tight that it was cutting their wrists while they fidgeted. After a few moments, Patrick disappeared, and came back dragging Coller Ribbs by the shoulders. He tied him up and left him in the center of the room.

"I have to be honest," Ruth said, waiting for Patrick to return. "This isn't how I envisioned my first case to go."

"Mm," Spencer mused, fidgeted some more. "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"If it starts to look like we're going to die in the short future, will you tell me your IQ?"

Ruth stared at him, her jaw open slightly. "Simply for asking that in this type of situation warrants me to _never_ tell you."

"A simple "no" would suffice." Spencer grumbled.

"Hey, I think I can get my hand loose!" Ruth said in a loud whispered. She wiggled for a moment longer. "Maybe not," she winced, looking over her shoulder. "I'll try again."

"Ruth?" Spencer saw her eyes look at him; they were welled up with fat tears that shone in the light of the lamp on the desk. "Ruth, are you—"

"Who's that?" Coller's voice rose from his body on the ground. "Who are you?"

"Coller Ribbs? We're FBI agents, we're here to help!" Spencer replied.

"You're all tied up." Coller observed, fidgeting with his own plastic ties. "How are you suppose to help?"

"Um, well," Spencer cleared his throat. "Our teammates will figure us missing pretty soon, and, you see—"

"I did it!" Ruth held her hands up and they were separated. Her voice held relief and strain, but never the less, she pulled out the pocket knife from her pocket and cut the ties on her feet. She then freed Spencer and moved onto Coller. Spencer retrieved his gun from the floor where he had kicked it, and dusted himself off.

"Let's get out of here before that guy gets back." Ruth shivered, rubbing her arms. "Call the team, get Coller out of—" Spencer and Coller heard a gentle squeak and a few thumping noises. Spencer searched for his flashlight, somewhere amongst the ground where it had fallen. Finding it, he flashed it, his gun risen, to see Patrick with his own gun at Ruth's temple, again.

This time, Spencer didn't wait for him to speak. "Patrick Holombre, put the gun _down_." His voice was large and strong, it caused an echo in the dim building. "There's no way out of this, we are FBI agents."

"I _will_ shoot her." Patrick dared, pushing the gun harder into Ruth's temple, his hand gripped over her mouth harder.

"No, you won't," Spencer replied. "after the guilt you felt for killing Julia, you could never hurt another woman. Especially not one like Ruth."

"She's so innocent," Patrick snarled, "pure and beautiful. You wouldn't want to lose that, would you?" His hand shaking caused the gun to quiver and scrape her skin at the barrel.

"You won't hurt her. I could shoot you now and you wouldn't do a thing to her." Ruth could see Patrick losing his confidence. "She's _too_ innocent, pure and beautiful. You couldn't harm someone who looks like that. You would die of the guilt."

As his arm shook harder, Ruth took the only chance she could see. She grabbed the gun and tore it out of his hand. She elbowed him in the face, and in return he kicked her feet out. She hit the ground, regained her composure and pointed the gun up at him. He kicked it out of her hands, and raised his foot to stomp her face. Spencer aimed and shot, blowing off his kneecap. Ruth rolled away and Spencer apprehended him, cuffing his wrists together.

Ruth picked up the gun, and slid the magazine out and checked it. "It's empty, I knew it! Bastard didn't even have any bullets!"

"It's okay, Ruth," Spencer left him on the ground, howling in pain. "We got him."

"I feel like a fool." She replied, "I should have known."

"Ruth, we may be geniuses, but we don't know everything." Spencer replied, causing her to let her eyes sink to the ground, watching the darkness boil around her.

* * *

**REG:**

**Awesome, carefully collected drama that creates warfare feelings for the characters but does not span more than two pages.**

**Please review, chief.**


	6. First End

_"If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you end your story." _-- Orson Welles

* * *

On the plane ride home, after the congratulations to Ruth and Spencer, the thanks from parents for catching this monster, and a trip to the emergency room for Ruth—the top of her wrist sliced, knuckles bruised and other assorted injuries—the team was just ready to get home.

Ruth sat alone, a crossword puzzle book resting in front of her, a pencil between her teeth as she examined all of the questions.

"Hey," Spencer took the seat beside her, setting his bag down. "How are you feeling?"

"Conflicted." She replied. "This answer is either Max Holste or Pierre-Georges Latécoére."

"What's the question?" Spencer inquired, shortly after realizing she was referring to the puzzle.

"What pioneering French aviator built his first aircraft in 1931 that he called SHB1?" Ruth read, "It has to be Holste."

"I concur. Pierre-Georges Latécoére didn't build planes, he founded an aeronautics company. Max Holste built planes." Spencer nodded over her shoulder, watching her write the letters. Her handwriting was big, even if the letters weren't in capitals. They were wide, and almost cartoonish. Not uncommon for people of high IQs, Spencer knew his own handwriting looked quite childish in comparison to one's like Hotch and Rossi.

"This one is too easy. Three letters; which famous literature's author was born in Boston, Massachusetts to screen actors by the names Elizabeth and Henry?" Ruth scoffed and laughed, scribbling down POE. "It says these things are hard on the cover, but they really aren't."

"Would you like to finish the Tell-Tale Heart instead?" Spencer offered, but Ruth shook her head.

"I finished that on the ride to Akron. Three times." She scribbled in a few more answers quickly. "Thanks, though."

Spencer nodded, watching her. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes wide beneath her large reading glasses. Her nose was wrinkled, in a twist, while she read answers. It softened while she thought, and flared while she answered. Her lips went from a small twisted line, to a soft frown, to a delighted smirk. She expressed her experience with books despite her surroundings, and focused in so hard on her books, she didn't answer while Spencer spoke until he nudged her. "What?"

"Do you have kids?"

Ruth blinked. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"You were really good with those twins. You knew how to treat kids."

"Oh, I have five nieces and nephews." She shrugged, "And one on the way, God willing." She crossed her fingers. "They've had issues with bringing children to full term since their third."

Spencer nodded. "Do you ever get tired of it?" Ruth asked.

"Tired of what?" Spencer looked confused.

"Knowing. Julia Stanford died and left her little brother and sister scarred for life, and her parents devastated… simply because she was trying to help." Ruth explained, "Does that ever get to you in a horrible, destructive way?"

"Sometimes. But that's when you realize you took the job to make sure bad people who hurt good people like her don't ever do it again." Spencer replied, slipping his hand on her shoulder. "You do realize that, don't you?"

She stared at him for a minute before returning to her crossword, writing down "Henry VIII" in a set of columns.

Spencer stared at her for a moment before asking, "Need help with the crosswords?"

She laughed, "No, I don't need any help, thanks though."

He cleared his throat. "Would you like some?"

She eyeballed him for a moment. "Yeah, sure." She smiled softly.

"What's the next question?" Spencer tried to see over her shoulder.

"Oh, wait," Ruth snapped her fingers and reached into her paper bag on the floor. She pulled out a small, compact digital camera. She lifted it above her and took a picture of herself and Spencer. "To commemorate my first case. My brother will love it, he's in the army, he was so excited when he heard I go the job…" she looked at the screen and smiled. She held a wide, toothy grin. Spencer had an absent expression, just staring at the camera; she obviously caught him unaware. "Adorable."

He smiled, a small smile, and looked to the crossword. "The answer is Van Gogh."

Ruth blinked a few times and looked to the question. _Who defiled his head with a razor blade, famed for giving it to his significant other, actually gave said object to a young prostitute?_

Ruth smiled and wrote down VAN GOGH. She glanced to Spencer, and they shared a moment of exchange with their eyes. He liked it, she liked it. Their eyes dipped together and made love in one swift blink, where neither of them could comprehend the feeling that shook their bodies: attraction.

Nevertheless, they did puzzles together up until Spencer couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He dozed off beside her, while she was on the third book of puzzles. She didn't even look tired, though the rest of the plane's occupants were already fast asleep.

* * *

**REG:**

**Sorry this took so long. I was on a rampant quest to Massachusetts which included six hours of highway roundtrip. But I am home now, and updating for solely one person who made my day.**

**I hope you enjoy this one.**

**Review, please!**


	7. Christmas

"_Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back you yourself."_ --Antoine de Saint-Exupery

* * *

The light on his desk flickered. He flicked the bulb gently, and it stayed bright. He squinted his eyes at the lamp, then continued with his paperwork, just finishing up. It was Christmas eve.

"Have a goodnight, guys!" Hotch waved as he passed Spencer and Ruth. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Hotch," Ruth waved as he headed out, followed by JJ, Rossi, Derek and Emily, filing out with their holiday jeers. Ruth looked to Spencer. "What are you doing for Christmas Eve?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?" Spencer looked up at her.

"Everyone seems to be heading out to family's houses… are you going home, too?"

"No, I'm just going to stay in tonight."

"Alone? You're not going to go see your family?"

Spencer shrugged. "My family doesn't typically get together for holidays, you know?"

"Yeah," Ruth nodded. "I spend Christmas night with my boys, and the kids. I usually spend Christmas Eve wrapping presents at the last minute with my younger brother." She chuckled. "You?"

"I usually just stay in." He replied.

"Really? That's not right, you shouldn't spend Christmas alone." Ruth stood up, grabbing her bag. "Want to have dinner maybe?"

"No, that's okay, I don't want to take you away from your little brother. I'll be fine."

"_Spencer_, I know you don't want to spend Christmas alone!" Ruth whined. "Have dinner with me. Please?"

"It's okay, Ruth… you don't have to feel bad for me. I'm fine." He smiled up at her. She rustled his hair, and soon after left the bullpen. Spencer watched her leave, and then looked at the paperwork before him. He had finished it hours ago. Why did he feel like he had to stay after, to make sure Ruth left before he did?

He pulled a small pink envelope out of his bag. On the envelope, it said _Merry Christmas Ruthie_.

He placed it on her desk and watched it sit there, untouched, for a few minutes. His stomach churned and he took it back, putting it away in his bag and leaving the bullpen, as well, heading home. Alone.

Ruth stepped in on Garcia. "No Christmas break for you, Ms. Penelope?"

"Not for awhile. I get tomorrow off completely, though! Hooray for me, right?" Garcia smirked.

"I need a favor, ma'am," Ruth sat down beside her. "I need Spencer's address."

Garcia cocked an eyebrow and then grinned wildly and began typing.

Ruth blinked. "Whatever dirty thought you're thinking, stop thinking it."

"What you do on your free time is none of my business, Ruthie, sweetness." Garcia scribbled down Spencer's address on a piece of paper and handed it to Ruth. "Let me know how he was."

"You've got your mind in the gutter." Ruth mumbled. She pulled something out of her sling bag. It was a small box, wrapped in neon pink wrapping, with a yellow bow atop it. "Merry Christmas. Can't open it until tomorrow."

"That's never going to happen." Garcia tore the bow off and unwrapped it, then gasped. "Pink diamond studded earrings of the Pink Panther! These must have cost a fortune!"

Ruth just laughed as she began to put them on. "Have a good night, Penelope."

"Love ya, sugar!" Garcia waved as Ruth left, rereading Spencer's address. She went home as soon as possible and got into kitchen and began cooking. She managed to make him her special pasta; penne rigate with fresh shredded cheese, a dash or two of cream, homemade spaghetti sauce and a few spices. She whipped up some garlic and soy green beans, and even had the time to make her squash and corn dish. For dessert, she found her homemade tin of ice cream in the freezer; peach raspberry, her specialty. She put them in separate bowls and plates and put them in her picnic basket. She knocked on her neighbor, Mrs. Gonzales's door, and asked to borrow her car. She drove to the nearest wine outlet and bought a bottle of Chablis. She then buzzed to Spencer's house and parked her car. She stared at the Christmas present for him, wrapped, with another neat bow on top. She let out a sigh and grabbed her things, climbing up the steps until she reached his apartment.

* * *

**REG:**

**I crashed my car today against a tree. Because it was snowing. The first snowfall of the year, and I crash my car. Just my luck. My poor car has been through so much... poor guy.**

**So I dedicate this to, among my reviews, also my poor car POE, who deserves better. Less than a year and four crashes later. You rock.**

**Review please.**


	8. Priceless

_"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." _--John Lennon.

* * *

She knocked on the door three times.

Spencer opened the door in a plain button-up shirt and, probably, his only pair of blue jeans. Ruth stifled a giggle from the way he looked… adorable, to say the least, but completely out of character for Spencer Reid. He blinked upon viewing her. "Ruth?"

"Merry Christmas, Spencer!" She beamed. "We're having dinner!"

"You made me dinner?" Spencer took the bottle of wine she handed him. "And wine?"

"Nobody should spend Christmas alone… it's so sad." She replied, entering his apartment. She set down the picnic basket and took off her coat. "You don't mind my company, do you?"

"Of course not." Spencer put down the wine on the counter. "What happened to your Christmas presents with your brother?"

She sighed. "My brother's in the army… he's not home this Christmas. I didn't want to spend Christmas alone, and I didn't think you should. It's a good solution for both of us." She smiled again, and sat down on his couch. "Come sit with me, I got you a present."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Wait here."

She watched as he disappeared into his room. On his way back out with a sparkly wrapped gift, he grabbed the card from his bag and sat next to her. "Merry Christmas."

"Geez, Spencer! You didn't have to get me anything!" She took the gift and card. "You are too sweet, Spencer Reid."

"You got me something, though. Doesn't that mean you shouldn't have gotten me anything?" He took the gift she handed him.

"No, that only applies to people giving me gifts." She opened the envelope and pulled out a Christmas card.

On the cover there were two rabbits. One with a blue scarf, mittens and hat and one with the same in pink. Below them it said, _Merry Christmas!_

Ruth's smile brimmed, and she opened it up.

_Ruthie,_

_Merry Christmas. It's been quite eventful and exciting working with you, but your friendship is more valued than your work could ever be._

_Spencer_

"Spencer," She awed and leaned over, giving him a gentle hug. "You're just a big softie under all those statistics and PhDs!"

"Open your present." He insisted. Ruth nodded and unwrapped the present carefully, pulling out a long, slender blue velvet box. She flipped it open. It was a diamond studded necklace with letters spelling out _Ruthie. _The dot above the I was a pink heart diamond.

She gasped quietly. "Spencer, this must have been so expensive! You shouldn't have."

"The diamonds are called Eve's Diamond. They're from Russia. It may have been expensive, but your smile is kind of priceless." Spencer said, watching her face blush slightly and her smile widen. "Besides… they're Ruthie Eve diamonds. It was _made_ for you."

"You're amazing, Spencer," She took it out and handed it to him. "Will you put it on for me?"

He nodded, and lifted his arms around her, pulling the clasp apart. She lifted her hair up, and he connected the ends, letting the silver splash against her soft skin. He let his fingertips rest on her bare skin for just a moment, before pulling away. "How does it look?" She turned to face him.

He smiled. "Amazing." He replied.

"Open yours. It's not as great or anything," Ruth huffed a sigh, "but I'm not that great of a gift-giver or anything like that… I just guessed. I thought you would enjoy it."

Spencer opened his present to see a book. It was so worn there was no longer anything but a dull black cover. He flipped through the pages very carefully. Some were a little torn, all of them were worn and smelt like an old book, the edges of the paper slid against his fingertips, feeling like old, stale paper. "What is it?"

"It's the Tell-Tale Heart from the 1800s." Ruth explained, "It's been in my family for years. My father gave it to me before he died, and he told me to one day give it to someone who would cherish it. Nobody really knows it exists except for me and you, now."

"This is worth a fortune, Ruth. Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because every time we go somewhere, you always seem to have that book with you. I thought it was your favorite." She frowned, "You don't like it, do you?"

"I love it. It's amazing… but why are you giving it to me? You could sell it, or put it in a museum."

"That's not what this book deserves. It deserves to be read by a diehard Poe fan," she smiled softly. "I know you'll take great care of it, and give it to your genius kids some day."

Spencer laughed. "Ruth, I don't even know how to thank you."

"Eat my dinner and tell me it's amazing and have a merry Christmas with me."

Spencer smiled and nodded, feeling his smile grow wide against his cheeks. "It sounds like a plan. I'll start setting the table."

"I'll grab the food!" Ruth jumped up, and began picking up the wrapping paper. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something atop the desk in the corner. A small frame with a photograph inside, the edges sparkling silver with a golden trim that shone so bright with such little light in the room. She picked it up and held it close to her face, her eyes sparkling with the sight. It was of her and Spencer, commemorating her first case. "Spencer?"

"Yeah?" He looked up from putting down silverware to see her. "What is it?"

"You kept this?" She turned to show him what she had. He nodded. "For four months?"

"Yeah." He walked up to her, his arms crossed. "I liked it."

"But you kept this. The whole time?" Spencer nodded, again. "Why? Why do you like it?"

"You look beautiful. I look tired, oblivious. It reminded me of the Beauty and the Beast." He shrugged. "Is it a bad thing?"

Ruth smiled, and set the picture down. "No, of course not," she ran her fingertips down the glass over the picture, and turned to face him. She gave him a gentle hug, wrapping her arms around his body. He let his palms fall on her upper back and lower back, and held her close. The warmth of his body overcame her, and she shivered, gently, taking in his scent. Sweet, gentle, a little musky, tense, rugged, yet soft and smooth, rising through her sinuses and inebriating her brain. The tingles sparked from her finger tips and traveled through nerves to her knees, her head and her heart. She melted into his grasp.

She pulled away and looked up at him. He simply smiled down at her. All of nature's forces, all of gravity, all of the rules and regulations of the FBI pulled them away as hard as they could. Their hearts pulled them together, with little pressure. It was clear which side won when Ruth stepped up on her tiptoes. She turned her head and caught a deep glance into his dark eyes, and hit his lips at an angle. He kept her close, she kept him closer. He cradled her so gently, the slightest movement may break their hold, but it didn't.

They ate dinner, romantically. They joked, and laughed, and touched each other. They sat on his couch, and Spencer read his new book to Ruth while she laid her head in his lap, listening to his voice gently recite each word she already knew. Near the end, he stroked her hair, his voice grew to a low whisper, and Ruth fell asleep. Spencer stayed there, watching her while she silently slept, his hand softly tangled in her hair, his other hand resting against her waist.

He lifted her and slipped out from beneath her head. He cleaned things up from dinner and took off her shoes. He brought her a blanket and a pillow, and kissed her goodnight. He watched her for a few moments longer before retreating to bed himself. He went to bed thinking about her, and dreamt of her that night.

* * *

**REG:**

**Incidentally, I didn't mean to post this on Christmas Eve, but I have been seriously slacking in my literature department for awhile. Sorry! It just happened!**

**Merry Christmas, review, thanks for the reviews, and if you're wondering, no, Poe did not survive his encounter with the tree.**

**R.I.P Poe.**


	9. Want

_"Secrets are meant to be found out with time."--_Charles Stanford.

* * *

Spencer shook her awake, gently. It took a minute, but her beautiful eyes fluttered awake. He had been watching her sleep for ten minutes. She looked so peaceful and graceful. She instantly smiled, spotting Spencer in her view, and sat up slightly. "Morning," she yawned. "What's up?"

"Nothing." He said simply, a smile still on his face. "How did you sleep?"

"Amazingly." She grinned at him. "You?"

"The same."

He watched her and she watched him. Their eyes dove at one another, blinks and twitches, enhancing the view of one another. She was so beautiful, especially now; her hair amok and her face still worn with sleep. He looked amazing, his face a shade darker from the night and his eyes a dimly light corridor into his mind.

She put her hand on his and felt his skin on hers. She smiled softly at him, and strolled her fingers up his arm.

He leaned over and kissed her lips; a swift movement that felt to last a lifetime. "Merry Christmas, Ruthie."

His cell phone jingled in the distance, breaking their moment. He stood up and left her there, and she watched his meticulous movements, gliding across the floor and talking on the phone.

"Right. Yeah, I'll, uh, stop by her place." Spencer cleared his throat and then hung up. "I guess not everyone had a merry Christmas. We have to go in. We have a case."

"Oh." Ruth frowned.

"Hotch told me to pick you up. He said you weren't answering your phone." Spencer's face held a sly grin as he approached her. "I didn't tell him you spent the night." He crouched down and crossed his arms over the cushion of the couch she sat on.

"I'm not sure why everyone wants us to have sex." Ruth blurted out, causing Spencer to raise his eyebrows. "You can tell Derek is just waiting to hear about it from you, and Garcia thinks I wanted your address last night to seduce you into my loins, or something. I mean, I don't see why we should have sex. Other than the pure, unadulterated hotness."

Spencer just stared at her. "Perhaps I phrased that wrong." Ruth said thoughtfully.

"You kissed me last night." Spencer stated. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to." Ruth began to put her shoes on.

"Why did you want to?"

"Because… it was what I wanted to do."

"Explain it to me. Please?"

"I don't know. In that moment, you were everything. A warm body, a soft smile, a sweet notion. I won't lie, I am totally attracted to you. I think you're very handsome. But, I know it's wrong of me to think that way about you, a colleague. And last night… well, it surely wasn't supposed to happen."

"But you don't regret it?"

"No…" she sighed. "I don't. At all. In fact, if I could do it again, I would probably seduce you, this time."

"Just because it's against the rules doesn't mean we can't do it."

Ruth burst out laughing. "Well, look at you! Dr. Spencer Reid: Sex Rebel!"

"That's not what I meant. I'm attracted to you, too, it's obvious what the general solution should be."

"I know, Spence, but it's against the rules and I don't want to lose this job, or you lose yours, either. Besides, I value your friendship more than anything in the world. You're great to me. That's all that matters."

Spencer watched her, and then nodded. "I'll bring you home real quick so you can change and get a few things."

"Thanks."

Once back at the BAU, they boarded the plane almost instantaneously. Ruth and Spencer sat together, Rossi, Derek and Hotch around them.

"Where are the girls?" Ruth somewhat frowned, glancing around the seemingly empty plane, sans Emily and JJ.

"I let JJ stay home with Will and Henry, and I couldn't get in contact with Emily." Hotch explained, handing everyone a copy of the file. "Our killer is nicknamed the Claus Killer. He started in Hawaii, moved to Alaska, California, Oregon, Washington and Idaho. He kills three families, one on Christmas Eve, one on Christmas day, one on the day after Christmas. He broke into Roger and Debbie Faber's house last night in Helena, Montana, shot them both, and strangled their three young children. He targets male/female couples with three young children, which means he watches them."

"He's going in a clockwise pattern across the United States. Hawaii first, Alaska after that, then California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho and now Montana." Ruth mused, rubbing her index finger against her chin. "Sounds like a compulsive act, every twelve months, he has to kill. Maybe after he kills he settles in the most recent town until the urge grows too much to bear."

"He goes to the capital city of each state," Spencer added. "If we don't catch him this time, we'll have to wait until next year in Bismarck, North Dakota. The stresser must be relative to Christmas, perhaps he was abandoned or lost a family member."

"There is nothing in particular that the victims have in common. They live in the same city, but not anywhere near each other." Hotch continued to explain.

"This is one of those horrible, monumental occasions in which I hoped would never be brought upon me." Ruth uttered, staring at the crime scene photos. "I'm sorry, I've always been attached to Christmas. This kind of thing makes it horrible."

"Just because things like this happen doesn't mean you should value Christmas any less. You should value it even more." Rossi replied. "Will you be able to handle this case?"

"Of course." Ruth nodded, "Will I be able to handle not spending Christmas night with my boys? Hmm, that's a different story."

"I want to apologize to all of you. I know you all had Christmas plans." Hotch glanced from Ruth to Derek, "I appreciate your willingness to postpone your plans for the team."

"Well, sheesh, Hotch," Ruth guffawed, "Christmas is a holiday. I'd rather miss this _one_, than live knowing I could have helped prevent families from missing the rest of theirs."

"That's a good point," Derek slid into the seat across from Spencer. "I'm getting on Ruth's boat with this one, Hotch."

"Me too. Besides, some of us didn't even have plans." Rossi snickered to himself, leaning against the back of the seat he was in. "This kind of thing distracts you from those thoughts."

Spencer remained quiet, watching Ruth out of the corner of his eye. After all were briefed, a few theories tossed around, Hotch ordered the team to get some sleep and rest up for when they landed. Derek went out fairly easily, Rossi took a while of eyeing over the casework, and Hotch remained in a silent pose in the front of the plane, neither Ruth nor Spencer knew if he was awake or not.

"Ruth, can we talk?" Spencer pulled her attention away from her crossword puzzles. "About, um, last night?"

"Sure, if you think we should." Ruth shrugged. "What's on your mind?"

"I just want to make sure we're on the same track. You can honestly say, without doubt, that you're not going to act on your previous actions?"

Ruth stared at him. "No." Spencer nodded slowly, biting his lip. "Spencer, I mean the answer is no. I can't say that. Who knows what the future holds? I don't. If what you're asking is if I'll ever kiss you again, I'd say to the extent of my knowledge, no. But, what do I know? I assumed I'd never kiss you in the first place."

"You're a genius, though. The extent of your knowledge is limitless."

"Until now, though, isn't that right?"

"You should be able to know. Are we ever going to date?"

Ruth shrugged.

"Maybe? I won't hold out for you, and I don't suggest you do the same for me… but, maybe." She shrugged, and went back to her crosswords.

Spencer watched her, unsure of what to say. He studied her as she filled in her answers, sure enough to be correct. He reached over and put his hand over her book and pressed it down against her lap. She glanced over at him and he leaned, twisting his torso, over her. He pressed his lips against hers, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up. His knees shook and his joints bustled with a nervous twist. Why did he just do that?

He pulled away to spot her expression. Her lips still warm with remnants of his kiss, her eyes just now fluttering open again. As he pulled away, his lips dragged her with him, as she stopped just short of collapsing on top of him.

He swallowed hard, watching her mind register the previous moments in time.

"Did you just…"

"Yeah."

"…Why?"

He smirked a gentle smirk, and folded a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Because I wanted to."

* * *

**REG:**

I'm not one hundred percent in love with this chapter. But I suppose it will have to do. Sorry of my slack. I suppose I get so caught up in the shennanigans and tomfoolery of the real word, I often loosen my grip on my fantasies. Whoops.

Please review and here are my wishes for you all to have a radical new year.


	10. Please

_"A lovely thing about Christmas is it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together."_ -- Garrison Keillor

* * *

"Did you know the average square mile of land in Montana contains 1.4 elk, 1.4 pronghorn antelope and 3.3 deer?" Ruth inquired as they aimed for the SUVs.

"Really?" Rossi humored her—because it was Christmas—and feigned interest in her absorbent facts.

"Yeah, and did you know in 1888 Helena had more millionaires per capita than any other city in the world?" Ruth looked and Rossi nodded, as if he were listening. "Also, did you know that out of every state in the USA, Montana is the one I hate the absolute most?"

"That I did not know." Rossi slid his hands into his jeans. "Why do you hate Montana?"

"Well," She went for the driver's seat, but Hotch beat her to it. She grumped and climbed into the back with Spencer and Morgan. "When I was 19 I went to visit my grandparents, slipped on Montana's stupid slippery grass and took down their mailbox and my four front teeth. These are veneers. Could you tell?"

"Ruth, you have got to be the most accident-prone person I know." Hotch glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted Ruth sitting behind him.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Actually, you'd be surprised how often people tell me that." Ruth mused, rubbing her chin.

"I don't think so." Derek laughed. "I'm going to guess just about everyone who has known you for more than… three weeks."

Ruth blinked. "That sounds about right." She mumbled, crossing her arms. "It's not like I mean to. People and inanimate objects just have it out for me!"

"How can inanimate objects have "it out" for you? Objects can't think, or devise plans or even feel anger, or any other emotion." Spencer explained, watching her accepting this.

"I'll accept the blatantly impossible over accepting the fault of being a klutz any day." Ruth crossed her arms, "Besides, you guys can be accident-prone, too. I'm just a whole lot _more_… so really I should feel special."

"Ruth, trust me, nobody thinks you aren't special." Derek chuckled.

Ruth smirked, but it slowly faded. "Hey!" She hit him in the shoulder. "That was an insult!"

"But not untrue." He grinned, slouching low in the seat so Ruth couldn't reach him again.

* * *

"Okay, some people just don't have the right kind of Christmas spirit." Ruth watched as the crime scene collectors were still shuffling through the debris and wreckage of the front yard. All the Christmas decorations were torn up and broken, or thrown into the road, with bits and pieces laying all over the yard. "They should call this guy Scrooge. Or Holiday Spirit Ruiner. Or the Grinch!"

"How 'bout sicko? Maniac?" Derek almost hissed as he, too, watched the scene move before him. "Can you believe this man was here not but 15 hours ago?"

"It's amazing to think how close you come to stopping a crime, only to be deterred by a few hours, or even minutes." Rossi walked up behind them, "Ready to go inside?"

"I guess so." Ruth grimaced and followed the two men inside. The living room was covered in pools of blood. The bodies, being carted out beside them, could be palpably felt as they descended earth. Ruth's heart thumped faster in her chest.

"The children are upstairs, still." A woman in a blue FBI jacket said to Ruth and Derek. "First response went up there and puked in the hallway. Other than that, not that many people have gone up. The strongest, most experienced agents can get deterred by three dead kids."

Ruth frowned at the thought, but nonetheless, peeled herself away from Rossi and Derek throwing hypothetical situations around the room. She passed Hotch talking with the chief of police as she slowed her steps up the stairway. The gray carpet on the stairs were stained with bloody footprints, and she followed them up the stairs and around the corner, down the hallway, passed the first response's puke and stopped at a door, closed tight, with sunlight breaking through the space underneath. She looked around the empty hallway, the smell of ruined Christmas spirit, vomit and death all around her. She argued with herself in her mind on whether or not to go inside. Would she, too, react like the first response and blow chunks all over the hallway? Like every other case with murdered kids, will she envision them as her nieces and nephews? Will this case break her like an egg?

She opened the door, quickly, while still arguing with herself. She followed the footprints on the hardwood inside, and took a deep breath as she stepped inside. A twinge hit her side as she saw them. A little girl with a big red bow in her hair. A boy in dinosaur pajamas. The shake in her knees caused her to lean against the wall. She heard a little shuffle in the closet, which made her jump and reach for her gun. She saw a little hand escape into the closet and the door close with a rattle.

"Hello?" She said, feeling a little dumb, knowing she wouldn't get a response. "It's okay. I'm with the police." She knelt down by the door. "I'm here to help you… I won't hurt you."

The door, ever so slowly, opened back up. Ruth's breathing became labored to a pant, and her face flushed with red and her head ached. She knew what was happening; the third child survived. She couldn't wrap her mind around it, though, as she nearly fainted where she knelt. Slowly, out scuttled a little brown-eyed, blonde haired boy. He had bruises around his neck, and on his wrists. He couldn't have been older than four or five.

"Hey, there, little guy." Ruth gave him an almost elated smile, feeling soft tears rise in her eyes. He looked so much like her nephew. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head and glanced at the two other kids. "Are my mommy and daddy dead, too?"

She swallowed hard and slowly nodded. "I'm sorry… but I'm going to find the man who hurt your family. I promise."

He stared at her, and then said, "I'm Toby."

"Hi, Toby. I'm Ruthie." She held out her arms, "Do you want to come with me?"

He nodded, and climbed to his feet. Ruthie picked him up, and wrapped her arms around him, carrying him out the door. She felt her heart thump against she chest as she slowly made her way down the stairs. "Hotch."

Hotch turned around and saw her, his eyes widening. "Ruth—what—"

"He's alive." Was all Ruth could say before Toby turned around to see the police officers, scuffing around his home. "I don't… I don't know what to do next."

"I'll call for an ambulance." Hotch pulled out his cell phone as the rest of the team came over to her.

"Hey there, little guy," Derek leaned over Ruth's shoulder to see the boy. "How are you feeling?"

He quivered a little, and clung to Ruthie tighter. He turned his head and whispered something into her ear. "What do you mean?"

"His skin." Toby replied, looking back to Derek.

"It's okay, buddy," Toby began crying, holding onto Ruth tighter.

"What did he say?" Spencer watched as she cradled the young boy, swaying him gently.

"He said the man that hurt his family has Derek's skin." Ruth glanced to Derek, and he tensed.

"So we're looking for an African American who targets predominantly white families? Could it be a racial statement?"

"It could be anything, at this point." Rossi put his hand over his forehead. "What a Christmas this is turning out to be."

* * *

REG:

**I know. I deserve all the written abuse for being so slow. The good news? I got the Easy Cut and Bake Brownie Pan, if that even is it's real name. The bad news? It bakes lousy gluten-free brownies.**

**The extra good news?**

**Hopefully, y'all love me enough to still review me, even if I am complying with rule 123 of Incapably Continuing Tasks: The Failed Writer's Guide to Utter Douchebaggery.**


	11. Believe

_"A good many things go around in the dark besides Santa Claus." -- _Herbert Hoover

* * *

"This is turning out real sucky," Ruth said, drinking down her third cup of coffee. "We have less than ten hours before this guy strikes again, and we have nothing. Come _on_, Santa."

"Who are you talking to?" Spencer queried from the doorway. Ruth jumped and looked over to see him standing there with a smirk. She blinked a few times and poured herself another cup of coffee.

"You know how people usually have that one big thing they believe in? Whether it be a certain religious icon, or a fairytale you wish wasn't quite that farfetched?"

"What, you mean like Jesus or Buddha?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"…Are you trying to compare Jesus or Buddha to Santa Claus?"

"No! Maybe. I didn't mean to. It's just I've always believed in Santa. I mean, not really believed, like he ever actually existed or anything. But I like to believe that there's a certain savvy gentlemen somewhere in the world, whether it be at the North Pole or, or, Lapland, Finland, who just happens to help grant Christmas miracles."

"That's highly implausible, not to poke holes in your belief system, but if such a "savvy gentleman" existed, there would be no possible way for him to assist in the granting of Christmas miracle folktales."

"_Folktales_? You're so brainy you can't except a force beyond us actually helps us do spectacular things around the holidays? You don't believe in Christmas miracles?"

"They aren't Christmas miracles. They're just very rewarding circumstances or exponential experiences that trick us into believe that because they are remotely around or related to the holidays, they're Christmas miracles."

"So you don't think that, because Jeff Hoffman decided to get drunk and call the cops, saying he had killed his wife when he had actually killed a possum, and the blue lights from the locals scared off a serial killer midway through strangling a five-year-old boy, causing him to survive, isn't a miracle?"

Spencer contorted his face. "It may be a "miracle", but I don't think it has anything much to do with Christmas."

"You are such a Scrooge! I can't even believe it." Ruth shook her head. "Spencer, just because you don't believe it doesn't mean it's untrue. And just because I believe it doesn't make it true. It's an unknown. Let's leave it that way… for your sake, and mine."

He shrugged, "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't offend me. My uncle is a Scrooge, too. I used to have this very same argument with him over Christmas dinner." She rolled her eyes and left the small break room she had just spent the last 15 minutes in, gathering her thoughts.

"But, you really believe in Christmas miracles?" For some obscure reason, this idea was foreign to Spencer: someone with such brilliance believing in something so blatantly impossible.

"Of course. I mean… sure… sometimes it's hard, to believe that if there even was someone out there, they want you to try to be happy and want you to succeed and move on," Ruth somberly ran her fingers around the lip of her coffee cup. "But it's harder to believe there's no one out there to watch over us when things get real bad."

Spencer smiled at her, accepting her reasoning, considering the look on her face—it was the least he could do. "But you still believe in Santa?"

"No! Well, yes, but not like that. It's not like I send him my Christmas list or visit him at the mall." Ruth rolled her eyes, the paused. "Okay, I still visit him at the mall. But I don't make Christmas lists anymore."

Spencer laughed, though he tried to stifle it. Ruth just smirked, knowing that it was pretty funny that she was in her 20s now and still believed in a Santa Claus. Whether it be the one at the North Pole, the one at the mall, or the one in Lapland, Finland.

* * *

**REG:**

**I suppose I deserve the lack of reviews. I'm updating anyway and I would really appreciate the reviews, it helps keep me up. It would make me happy, too, and right now I think I need that. I'm not forcing you too, but it would help. If you read it, like it, review it.**

**Thank you.**


	12. Miracle

"_Miracles are natural. When they do not occur, something has gone wrong." _--Unknown.

* * *

"I had a thought." Ruth and Rossi, in the middle of tossing ideas at each other in a race for time, were interrupted by the sudden burst of air as Spencer blew in the door. "We've figured out this guy compulsively kills, correct? Every twelve months he must kill three families in three days?"

"Right." Ruth nodded, "Your point?"

"He didn't kill one family. Toby's alive. The press knows that, so _he_ knows that. He has to kill that kid before he can move on."

"Where is Toby now?" Rossi and Ruth both stood up in a flash.

"St. Peters. I'll call the nurses. We have to get down there." Ruth whipped out her cell phone.

As they arrived at the hospital, patrol officers were outside and another set were stationed outside of Toby's hospital room.

"Is he okay?" Derek went straight to one of the nurses, and she immediately nodded.

"A man did come to visit him, but he left when I walked in to check on him. Nearly downright knocked me over! That was just before your call. The poor boy won't say a word." The nurse sighed dramatically. "I don't know. Maybe you could try."

Derek looked to Ruth, and she noticed it out of the corner of her eye. When she looked over, the rest of the team was looking at her too. "Uh… what did I do?"

"Ruth, this boy trusts you. You need to talk to him."

"I… I…" Ruth looked in through the window on the door and saw Toby, sitting there, watching the TV at the foot of his bed. "I don't know if I can… he looks so much like my nephew, I just…" Ruth sighed, took in a deep breath and then headed for the door. She stopped just short. "Someone come with me."

Rossi stepped forward, mostly because he didn't give Spencer a chance to, and followed Ruth inside. Ruth pulled a chair up close to the bed and sat down. "Hey Toby, do you remember me?"

"You're Ruthie, you helped me." Toby nodded.

"That's right, I did… but, Toby, now I need you to help me. The man, the one that hurt you? He came to see you, didn't he?" Toby nodded. "I really, really need to find this man. He wants to hurt another family, but I can't let him. I need you to help me, Toby, tell me everything you know about this man."

Toby thought for a moment. "He had dark skin. He looked like he needed a bath," Toby said, watching as Rossi began writing these things down. "He was big like my dad. He said a lot of bad words. He was mean to my sister, and even _meaner_ to my brother!" Toby sniffled. "He had a whistle. Brett took it while he… while…" she sniffled again.

"A whistle, sweetie? Like the silver noisemakers?"

"Yeah. It's under the bed… he came in here looking for it. I told him I didn't know. He said he would come back for me. Is he going to?"

"No, sweetheart. He won't hurt you ever again. I promise."

"Is he going to hurt anyone else?"

"I…" Ruth stared at him, their eyes becoming almost intertwined. Ruth wanted to say, _I sure hope not…_ what she ended up saying was, "Of course not."

* * *

"Jerry Derks? Bentley Harbor?" Ruth read off of a printed piece of paper, "Willam Defoe? He actually used Willam Defoe as an alias? We should arrest him on that, alone!"

"Garcia, could you find birth records or anything that would indicate a real name?" Derek asked Garcia over the phone.

"Uh, yeah, on all of the requests he need a co-signer for, it's always Chaplin Moore."

"Chaplin Moore?" Ruth blinked a few times. "I know that name. Spencer, we know that name, don't we?"

"We do? I don't think I've ever heard it."

"Come on! If I know it, you know it!" Ruth slapped her hand against her forehead. "Chaplin Moore! He was in the paper!"

"When?" Garcia asked.

"1998."

"1998? You remember a name from a newspaper article from 1998?" Rossi lifted his eyes.

"Yeah! Chaplin Moore, he was a middle school gym teacher in downtown Detroit. He killed eighteen students, four teachers and three parents at a basketball game and got off in a psych ward because he claimed he was psychologically impaired from the recent loss of his family… in a car crash! Oh, my God!" Ruth began pacing, wrapping her hands around her head. "His wife and three young children were in a car accident! Two of them died the day before Christmas, on the day of the crash, one the next day in the hospital and the third the day after! Holy crap!" Ruth sat down, staring at her hands. "Holy crap."

"Ruth, are you all right? We need to move." Derek stood up, followed by the rest of the team.

"I…" Ruth, looking completely fizzled out, scratched her head. "Can I cop this one out?"

Derek, twisting his face, looked to Hotch.

"Yeah. You should." Hotch said, as the team left. Ruth gathered up her things and went back to the hospital, stopping at a toy store on the way. She picked up a few toys—a teddy bear, action toys, a Transformer—and wrapped them in the hospital parking lot.

"Hey, Ruthie," the nurse smiled at her as she approached. "Here to see Toby?"

"Yeah… I… how's he doing?"

"Much better. As soon as his relatives get here, he can be discharged." Her smile was beaming as Ruth thanked her and headed for his room. "Merry Christmas."

"Thanks. Same to you." Ruth showed her badge to the guarding officers and they let her in. "Hey Toby."

"Ruthie!" Toby grinned. "Did you catch him? Did you?"

Ruth's smile cracked. How was she supposed to answer this?

However, some sort of sign from above—or perhaps from the north—shone down on her and her cell phone jingled.

She flipped it open and read the text.

_8:15p December 26__th_

_R. Spencer_

**We got him.**

She smiled at Toby as she sat down.

"Yeah, Toby," She lifted the bag with his presents onto the hospital bed. "We caught him."

* * *

Spencer and Ruth managed to end up as the only two awake on the plane, again.

"I'm beginning to think somebody is spiking their drinks." Ruth's voice emerged from the back of Spencer's mind, and he turned to see her. "They all fall asleep before you and me."

"Maybe it's Santa Claus keeping us awake so we can spend time together?"

"Did you just make a joke at my expense, Spencer Reid?"

"Of course not." He smirked.

"So…" She grinned, watching him. "Do you believe in Christmas miracles, now?"

"No, I don't think so." Spencer hummed, squinting his eyes and shaking his head.

"Really? Even after all that, you don't believe in Christmas miracles? After all that happened?"

"Ruth," Spencer turned to face her, and she looked like she was gearing up for an argument. "I still don't believe in Christmas miracles… but I believe in you a whole lot more."

Her face softened. "Really?"

"You, Ruth Eve, are a miracle."

She wrinkled her nose. "Can I be a Christmas miracle, tonight? Since it's remotely close and related to the holidays?" she grinned.

"Okay. But only for tonight."

She watched him as he closed his eyes, probably trying to get some sleep before the next day began.

"Spencer?" He opened one eye to see her. "I'm not sure. I don't know. I wish that I did, I honestly, I really do. But there are some things even people as smart as me still can't figure out. I wish I could tell you what I knew, but there are no words for it. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to describe the way I feel towards you in a less complicated and more understandable manner. But for now… you… and me? We're just clustered into the "I-don't-know" section. I wish I could be okay with that, but I can't, but unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about it."

He stared at her, taking in her words.

"When you see someone, and instantaneously know there's something special about that person, you'll know there's no way to understand or even come within the realm of understanding where that person will lead you, what they'll teach you, and how you'll feel about them. I just hope when you realize that special person is you, you'll be able to see the same thing in me. And realize, somehow… all you can do is wait it out." She leaned over, and kissed him once, then left him sitting there in the aisle.

* * *

**REG:**

**I told myself when I started this I would never put an unknown quote in the beginning.**

**...But I did.**

**Here's another about miracles that I don't think is as fitting, but is still quite true to the situation:**

_"Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature._" --Saint Augustine.


	13. Fear

"_We never understand how little we need in this world until we know the loss of it._" -- James Matthew Barrie

* * *

Ruth dulled herself in her apartment, brushing her hair while the TV played reruns of the Andy Griffith Show. A book sat atop her pile, freshly stacked out of a brown paper bag from a nearby bookstore. Works from Edgar Allan Poe, stacked alphabetically, with "The Fall of the House of Usher" splayed open on the coffee table, opened to a random page where Ruth had begun reading. She looked up to see Don Knott's character, Barney Fife, bobbing his head up and down with wide eyes and a gawking jaw. She stifled a laugh, and continued to read, setting her brush down beside the book. She had read all of the books, already. She had started over, beginning with the one she started with. _Usher_.

She picked the book up and read while wandering toward her bedroom. She was in a pair of boxers and a tank top, and once in her room, put the book on the edge of her sterilized looking bed, untouched, and looked around her room.

The clock read 7:05. To make it to work at 8am, she had to leave pretty soon. She didn't live particularly far, but knowing her car was broken—still—she had to rough it out, on foot. She changed into a drab gray t-shirt and pair of jeans. She had already popped off the fourth wheel on both of her rollerblades, though only one was busted. She shut everything off, heading for the stairs.

"Morning, Ruthie." The elderly Hispanic woman smiled graciously at her as she stepped down the outside steps. "How's the nine to five?"

"Pretty good, Mrs. Gonzales." Ruth replied, watching her take the newspaper out of its plastic bag. "How's the new granddaughter, Valentina?"

"A gift from God." Mrs. Gonzales beamed. "Would you like a ride?"

"No, thank you, I'm good."

"Okay… Have a good day, sweetheart."

"Thanks… you too." She slinked into her rollerblades and tossed her sneakers into her sling bag and took off down the sidewalk. Thankfully, the snow was melting, slowly. There was a pretty clear route from her apartment to the BAU. She had some eventful trips in the morning, blizzards on the way home, and a freezing nose and fingertips by the time she got there. She had achieved rides most of the time, but during those cold, hard winter mornings she buzzed through the snow, she had nothing but a good sweater and a few hard breaths to get her through the trip.

She pushed earbuds into her ears and started up her MP3 player. Her hair bustled, free, in the wind behind her. She hugged her thin sweater against her skin in the cool morning air, slipping her hand into her pocket to turn up the volume, hearing the lyrics "Last Day of My Life" by Phil Vassar. She took a corner, and avoided the blasted pothole that took her fourth wheel away from her almost five months ago, today. She wheeled into the BAU at a slow 8:03, coming in behind Spencer, who stood by the front doors.

"Howdy, Spencer," she said as she rolled by him, startling him a little.

"Ruth? Why are you on rollerblades?" Spencer inquired as she tossed her bag on the floor and slid to the ground, unlatching her rollerblades.

"Car's still busted. I know what's wrong with it—the battery plug is messed up. I can fix it, too, I just need to get to my brother's house and get my tools… and all my other junk." Ruth chuckled. "Guess what I did last night?"

"I don't know… I'm guessing it had to do with rollerblades." Spencer shrugged as she pulled out her sneakers.

"I went to the local bookstore… yes, on my rollerblades. I bought some Poe books. I realized I didn't actually own any, anymore. Read them last night. He's pretty nifty, I like him."

"Yeah, he's not half bad." Spencer smirked, and then helped her off the ground.

"Do you know what case we have next?"

"Nope. I believe it's in Oregon, though." Spencer mused.

Ruth stared at him for a minute before wrapping herself back up in her sweater. "Oh? Did you know Oregon is the only state with an official state nut? It's the hazelnut. It's also known as a "filbert"."

"Yes, and the Dorris Ranch in Springfield became the first filbert orchard in the state." Spencer replied, not removing his eyes from his folder.

"Did you know the Tillamook Rock Lighthouse, circa 1880, is currently used as the final resting place of more than 450,000 cremated individuals?"

"Yes… and there are nine lighthouses standing along the coastline, five of those are still in use, the other four are designated as historical monuments." Spencer glanced up at her. Her eyebrows were slanted, gently, and her eyes fluttered away from his gaze. Her bottom lip stuck out, but her teeth were clenched so hard, she was trying not to move her jaw at all, which resulted in it shaking, softly, almost unnoticeably.

"Did you know Oregon and New Jersey are the only states without self-serve gas pumps?"

"Ruth, what's with all the facts? And you look worried, too… is there something wrong?"

She shrugged. "Kind of." Ruth glanced around. "I lived in Oregon with my parents, before they died."

Spencer frowned slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that… but you can't just not go for that reason."

"I know. I'm not saying I won't go. I'm just saying… it's touchy for me. My parents were good people, and brilliant." She shrugged.

"Don't worry. Maybe it's not even in Oregon." Spencer smiled. She smiled back, her eyes shining in the light of the florescent lights above. His smile very slowly faded. "I mean… it is. I was trying to make you feel better… but it is in Oregon."

"That's okay… thank you for trying to help." Ruth shrugged and continued into the bullpen. She spotted Rossi in the distance and waved, he noticed and waved back. She sat at her desk and sighed, rubbing her hands on her forehead. All that ran through her head were random excerpts from Usher. All she heard was flipping pages from Poe books. All she saw were the words, scrambled on white paper, solid print.

"Ruth," Emily shook her shoulder. "We're going to the conference room."

"Oh." She blinked a few times. As they headed for the conference room, she glanced outside a window. Snow was on its way out the door—she had to fix her car soon, tired of her busted rollerblades. She wasn't exactly watching where she was going, her thoughts pulling her away from her body, which resulted in her walking into Spencer and Derek, who were in the middle of a conversation. "Sorry. I was miles away."

"It's all right," Derek put his hand on her shoulder and guided her between them. "Are you okay? You look tired."

"I didn't sleep well." She simply said, taking a random seat. Spencer and Derek ended their conversation, and Spencer took a seat beside Ruth.

"You look really worn out. Are you not sleeping?" Spencer asked, a concerned expression.

She shrugged. "Sleep has never been my strong point. Too much stuff going on upstairs." She chuckled. Spencer hadn't noticed it before, but light spots brimmed under her eyes, that darkened with the shadow her lashes created. She wore a tired expression as they exchanged stares, neither of them paying quite enough attention to what they were looking at. Spencer was watching her, wondering her sleep patterns. Ruth was just staring, deep into his eyes, hoping to unlock his subconscious.

"Our UnSub has killed before," JJ's voice suddenly broke them both out of their trance. Once realizing that the conference had been going on for several minutes, they both studied hard the expressions and words to try to figure out what had been spoken before they began paying attention. "In 1995, he killed Edger and Janice Garber. He abducted their 11-year-old daughter, Eve Garber, and left their three sons tied up in the basement for six days. Two weeks after being abducted, Eve Garber outwitted our killer and escaped. She claimed to police that he had taken her into the woods, to a cabin, and raped her. She gave exact coordinates using paces, i.e., she claimed it was 2100 paces from Cumberland Parkways in Bend, Oregon, northeast. The police failed to find said cabin, never found the killer and the case went cold after a couple months. The children moved in their godparents afterwards, and now the same kind of M.O. has come back to Bend, Oregon. Parents killed, daughter taken, young sons tied up in the basement. Garcia pulled up the same M.O. from states including Washington, Idaho and Montana."

Spencer noticed Ruth fidgeting in her seat. He turned to see her, and she was very obviously playing something out in her mind. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and she was fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

The conference ended, giving them 45 minutes to get ready for Oregon. Ruth stopped Spencer before he left the room, leaving them alone.

"Spencer, I need to tell you something."

"If it's another Oregon fact, I thought of a really good one for you. Mount Hood, a dormant volcano, is at 11,239 feet the tallest peak—"

"Spencer, it's not another Oregon fact." Ruth said flatly. Spencer watched her attempt to find the words to explain her situation. She ended with nothing but big, bulbous green eyes begging him for help.

"What is it? Just tell me."

"Will you promise not to tell anyone else, and never bring it up again unless I initiate it?"

Spencer paused. "If you tell me your IQ, sure!" He chuckled, obviously joking.

"Deal." She shook Spencer's hand, without him even getting a say in it. "Edgar and Janice Garber were my parents." She blurted out, causing Spencer's jaw to drop. "Remember, you can't tell anyone." She turned to leave and then spun around, giving Spencer a gentle, quick hug.

"Wait, that doesn't make any sense." Spencer began, but Ruth just turned and left him standing there, flabbergasted. "That means… you're Eve Garber." He stated, to no one but himself.

* * *

**REG:**

**Looking over my past chapters, I realized how often I put weird things in the last notes, very scarcely having to do with the story itself. All I can say this time is I hope you review to the best of your ability, because I'm greedy and I want it. There. I said it. No more Mr. Nice Guy! (In an unrelated topic, how cool would it be to meet someone with the first name Nice and the second name Guy? Maybe that's just me.)**

**Review!**


	14. Truth

_"We find comfort among those who agree with us - growth among those who don't." Frank A. Clark_

* * *

On her way out the door, back to her apartment to get what she would need for the trip to Oregon, Spencer stopped her, asking her if she'd like a ride. Spencer didn't have to go, he had what he needed packed already, as did the rest of the experienced team.

"It's nice." Spencer was tense. He needed to bring up Oregon and her parents, but couldn't. He just watched her move, seamlessly, with a smile. "Your apartment."

"Thanks." She headed for the bedroom. Spencer followed her, his hands in her pocket. He noticed the way she kept this was neat and orderly. Except for her room. Clutter on the desks, dirty clothes flung around the laundry basket in the corner, but few in the actual basket. The only neat and tidy thing in the room was the bed. Sheets tucked, blanket tucked, pillows fluffed. It looked like something out of a catalog.

He knew then that if Ruth had slept in this bed, it wouldn't have been made up like it was.

Ruth grabbed a few changes of clothes and things to occupy her for the plane. She slid her reading glasses onto the top of her head and slung her bag over her shoulder, following Spencer out of her apartment and down the steps.

"I know you made me promise not to tell anyone or bring it up, but I need to know," Spencer watched as she climbed into the passenger seat. "…You're Eve Garber?"

"Yes." She sighed.

"And what he did… he did… to you?"

"_Yes_."

"Were your coordinates right?"

"They were."

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know." She looked to him, and his heart broke a little. The expression she held; reminiscence, sadness, a 14 year long strain on her heartstrings. Her eyes sunk into her face as she stared at him. "I told the police I could bring them there. I told them I could catch him, if they gave me a chance. They told me to forget about it and move on, keep myself on track. I was so bright and amazing, if I kept at what I had going, this would never come up again. They sent me to live with my godparents, and that was the end of it. I always prayed this day would come… when I would get a chance to catch this horrible man. But now that I have the opportunity… I'm _so_ scared he's going to get me again."

"Ruth," Spencer's voice echoed into her ears. She had to look at him, see his face. His sincere expression. His sincere care, for her and her well-being. He put his hand on hers, and squeezed. "I promise you, I will never let him do that to you again. Even if it kills me, you _will_ be safe from him."

"…Spencer…" she almost awed, and leaned close to him. He swallowed hard as she wrapped her arms around him, and cried against his shoulder. His heart thumped so hard against his chest, he squeezed her so tight she could feel it against hers. And all he wanted was for her to know, he wasn't lying.

* * *

Oregon was warmer than Virginia, that's for sure. It was also drearier, since this crime had been committed. Ruth wanted to look for the cabin, but couldn't risk telling anyone of what happened to her. She wasn't sure how to get away, but knew she could get there. She and Spencer proposed that they go out to Cumberland Parkways and take the paces to try to find the coordinates, claiming, "if anyone can find that cabin, it's us.". Hotch agreed, and sent Rossi with them, and told them to keep in touch.

Once at the park, Ruth took off northeast, starting from the playground. They walked through the woods in a line, from Ruth, to Spencer, to Rossi. Nothing but silence while Ruth counted her paces out loud. At 2100, she stopped.

"This is where it should_ be_!" she exclaimed, looking around. Nothing but woods.

"The police combed this area. They didn't find anything." Rossi put his hands in his pockets and scanned the area with his eyes. "She must have been wrong."

"She _wasn't_ wrong." Ruth insisted. "She was smart. She must have… _he_ must have done something to confuse her, or… or…" her mind swarmed with memories, and she cringed at the thought of them.

"Maybe if we could find her, we could ask her." Rossi groaned. "I'm going to aim back to the park for cell service and call Garcia."

Spencer and Ruth exchanged glances and nodded, watching Rossi until he disappeared into the foliage. "You're sure?" Spencer asked her.

"_Yes_!" her voice was exhausted and sad, almost choked up. "I wasn't wrong. This is where it was. This is where it should be."

"You didn't count the paces wrong? Maybe the longitude and latitude are wrong? Maybe it's the wrong park?"

"Spencer, people have been telling me I've been wrong about this for fourteen years! I don't need you, too! I'm _not_ wrong!" Ruth took a step back and tripped over something, falling flat on her butt. "Damn it, this day can't get worse!"

Ruth looked up at Spencer and he just stood there, a sad look on his face. He didn't know what to say. And after that, everything went blank.

* * *

**REG:**

Shh, don't tell anyone I've come back. ;) Thanks for the undeserved reviews.


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